


To Warm Cold Hands

by voyuerisims



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Elias has a bad time, M/M, No emeto, Sickfic, jonelias - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29146575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voyuerisims/pseuds/voyuerisims
Summary: Jon discovers that Elias isn't as invincible as either of them think.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 1
Kudos: 42





	To Warm Cold Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little self-indulgent thing I wrote after doing a Twitter thread on the same concept

It was immediately apparent when Jon took his seat facing Elias at his desk that something was off about his employer. He always seemed to oddly enjoy these bi-weekly status report meetings, usually greeting the Archivist with a smile as he gestured for him to sit, having Rosie bring tea as he had Jon painstakingly recount any progress they made in the archive. The power of hindsight had made the whole thing seem rather pointless, but nevertheless Jon had gotten accustomed to the most pleasant form of Elias Bouchard at 2 P.M. on alternating Fridays.

Today, however, there was no energy behind his “Good afternoon, Jonathan.” His normally striking eyes were pale, dull in the dim overhead light that on most days the man kept blindingly bright. Face flushed. A bead of sweat on his brow.

Jon knew he was hardly an expert on how any of the avatar business worked, but with how quickly his own body regenerated itself the concept of sickness didn’t seem like something someone like Elias would have to worry about.

“Er, Elias, are you--are you feeling alright?”

The Institute Head cleared his throat indignantly. “Quite, thank you.” It was a poor attempt at a lie for any standard, but compared to his usual grace it seemed downright embarrassing. “Now then, Mr. Wesley’s statement--have you made any progress in...” he paused to cough into elbow, his eyes narrowed in annoyance as if it was an inconvenience to do so. “Have you found the shop he mentioned?”

“No, we ran into a bit of a dead end. Tim has been looking into--” Elias yet again interrupted with a painful-sounding fit that lasted uncomfortably long, seeming to finally drop his pretense as he took off his reading glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is it normal for...? I mean I, er, I didn’t realize you could still get ill,” Jon changed the subject to the more prominent matter rather tactlessly.

“I _don’t._ ” He pinched his temples with one hand and waved the other toward the door dismissively. “Let’s postpone this for now, shall we? I’m afraid my mind is elsewhere.” The last bought of coughing had left his smooth voice hoarse, and in the short time since Jon had arrived his skin had gone white as a ghost. He really could only imagine the cause was supernatural--perhaps the effect of some odd Leitner, or something of similar nature--and if that were the case it didn’t seem right to just leave.

The Archivist remained where he was, pondering the pathetic version of the Institute’s beating heart that sat before him. Elias would ensure _his_ safety if _he_ fell victim to this, wouldn’t he? He hadn’t exactly been quick to put an end to Prentiss’s attack, but he had been attentive afterward, and since he’d been kidnapped Elias had taken precautions for his safety.

No longer able to care for appearances, his boss had pressed his head into his hands leaning low over the desk. He probably knew as well as Jon did that it would be in his best interests for the Archivist to stay with him.

“Jonathan,” he finally murmured, resigned, “I’m in no state to drive myself home.”

* * *

Jon had been in his employer’s car once before, when he first became Head Archivist, though it was ages ago and was entirely different from driving it while the owner pressed his face against the passenger side window as if for dear life. He could smell the fever in the air as well as feel it now in close proximity, and despite his reservations he was now relieved he’d done this.

It wasn’t like either of them had many friendly faces to rely on. He’d needed Elias so many times in the past; it was selfish, Jon knew, but it felt refreshing to be the one needed now.

Through his miserable haze Elias did his best to direct Jon to his apartment, fortunately only a short drive away and one met with little traffic.

Stepping out of the car, the older man practically collapsed onto Jon as he helped him to his feet. He wasn’t lithe in stature and not particularly tall, but still it took most of the Archivist’s strength to be able to support him with nearly all of his weight relying on him to remain upright. He fumbled with the ring of unfamiliar keys in his free hand, sighing with relief when finally he’d gotten the deteriorating mess he was escorting inside.

Elias stumbled alongside him down the hall to his bedroom and all but threw himself onto the bed, his eyes snapping shut as he undid his loosened necktie fighting for any modicum of comfort. It was surreal to see someone so composed and dignified now shuddering, miserable, aching.

Jon did his best to ignore the noticeably _inhuman_ sort of satisfaction the sight brought him, shaking his head as he stepped back out to the hallway, heading to the bathroom on the other side. He took a washcloth from the linen cabinet and ran it under cold water for a moment before returning to Elias’s room--it didn’t feel right to leave now. Even if this _was_ Elias Bouchard.

Maybe _especially_ because it was Elias Bouchard. The Archivist shook the thought away and was suddenly very thankful his boss was in no position to be reading minds or to see how red his face became when he sat down next to the feverish man on the edge of the bed.

Comforting others had never been Jon’s strong suit, but Elias relaxed slightly when he started to dab his sweat-soaked forehead with the cool towel. He’d been a sickly child; this was the sort of thing he remembered his grandmother doing to help him fall asleep. Were it anyone else, oddly he was sure he’d have found this much stranger--but then again were it anyone else but Elias he wouldn’t be the one at their side like this.

Nearly two hours passed before he finally drifted into a more peaceful looking sleep. The Archivist had no idea as to what would happen when he woke up, if he’d somehow be miraculously cured or still writhing in pain or coherent enough to send off his employee who by all means Jon would not blame him for not wanting to see.

For now, though, he committed the image of his normally harsh face at rest to memory, reveling in the feeling that washed over him that this sight was his alone.


End file.
